


Safe

by Bittersweet_in_Boston



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 90s boy bands, Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Tower, Baked Goods, Baking, Boyfriends, Canon-Typical Violence, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Injuries, Modern Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Painting, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, So much kissing as per uzh, Tattoos, The Great British Bake Off References, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, baked ziti, comfort and discomfort, fuck you Hydra, housepainting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet_in_Boston/pseuds/Bittersweet_in_Boston
Summary: “Steve, this is James Barnes,” Pepper says smoothly, and from behind her steps a slim, short guy with floppy blond hair and the face of a grumpy angel.Unlike the rest of the stiffs in the ballroom, Steve is wearing a sheer black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tight black jeans, and a bemused smile. He’s got an intricate flower tattoo covering his left forearm, multiple piercings in his ears, and is that a pierced nipple just visible through the shirt? Bucky doesn’t like to stare. Steve looks like he’d be more at home right now at a club than in a ballroom full of stuffy rich people. Pepper goes on.“James, this is Steve Rogers, an artist and a friend.”Bucky sticks out his hand and obediently says, “Nice to meet you, Steve. It’s James, but you can call me Bucky.”“Oh, is this the brainwashed assassin?” Steve says, ostensibly to Pepper at his side but keeping his glance fixed on Bucky. He tilts his head and squints his eyes a bit. “Yeah, OK.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Shrinkyclinks!! 
> 
> CW: some brief violence and minor injuries, mostly to fascist Hydra jackholes.

_“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day...”_

Bing Crosby’s mellifluous voice issues from the speakers all over the ballroom. The band Pepper hired is taking a break and the DJ is playing holiday favorites in the interim.

An image of der Bingle singing “Swinging on a Star” on USO tour in Cassino in late 1943 flashes into Bucky’s mind. He suddenly remembers that night, the makeshift stage, shaking Bing’s hand, getting wasted on some stolen grappa with Jonesy and Dugan, partying with the rest of the 107th after a huge victory and the shifting of the Gustav Line.

Of course, a couple weeks later there was that terrible battle at Azzano when they all got taken prisoner and ended up at the Hydra base in Austria, and Bucky ended up in That Room with Zola...and soon after he got this fucking metal arm...

..but now Zola’s dead, Hydra’s dying, and he’s standing in a lavish ballroom in New York with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his custom formalwear.

_Fuck you, Hydra._

“You OK, buddy?” Clint Barton appears in his peripheral vision, looking simultaneously snazzy and rumpled in a dark grey tux. Bucky turns to him, an inquiring look on his face.

“You look a little...grumpy,” Clint continues. Bucky shrugs. As much as he’s psyched not to be in cryo or in The Chair right now, a swanky Stark Industries Christmas party is not really his preferred hangout spot. He doesn’t want to bum out his friend, though, so he says nothing.

Clint seems to understand anyway. “Here, hold on.” Clint twirls around and calls over a nearby waiter. Bucky’s a little confused. Is Clint getting him a drink? Barton knows that alcohol does nothing for Bucky. But Clint talks softly with the waiter for a minute, and Bucky pretends he can’t hear what they’re saying. Then Clint grabs the tray and the waiter hurries off.

“Crab puffs,” says Barton, offering the pile of food to Bucky. “Fuckin’ delicious.” Bucky smiles and takes one. It is, indeed, fuckin’ delicious.

Suddenly Clint looks past Bucky and his eyes go wide and fearful. Bucky turns and sees why he’s panicking. Natasha, looking ridiculously gorgeous in a deep red velvet gown slit up to here, and Pepper, resplendent in a glittery navy sheath, are slowly making their way toward the two Avengers with a pair of dreary old white CEOs in tow.

“Let’s get out of here,” hisses Clint, and Bucky nods. They take evasive action, gliding noiselessly past a huge potted palm to take refuge in a curtained alcove so they can stuff their faces with crab puffs in peace.

“Much better,” Clint mumbles, his mouth of crab. Bucky nods again. He’s trying hard not to feel too out of place at this glittery event and suspects that he’s failing miserably.

It’s a cold, wet evening in mid-December, and it’s been eight months since Sam and Natasha and Maria and Fury rescued the Winter Soldier from the wreckage of the Triskelion. They’d managed to disarm and destroy the helicarriers and subdue the Soldier during the fight, though that hadn’t been easy. Pierce had just wiped his brain (again) and the Soldier had been single-minded in his mission to guard the ships at any cost. Nat had gotten through to Bucky with some well-placed words about who he really was as they fought on the deck of the last ship, and Maria had taken advantage of his distraction to knock him out with a stun wand.

Bucky grabs four or five crab puffs off the tray, eats two, and is about to stuff the others in his pocket before he remembers that he’s not the Soldier anymore and he can have all the food he wants without having to hoard it or hide it. He shoves the remaining hors d’oeuvres into his mouth and smiles as he watches Barton do the same.

He doesn’t remember much about the next few weeks after the battle. Nat and Sam have told him that, since they found out SHIELD was so thoroughly compromised and infiltrated by Hydra, they opted to spirit him up to New York and lay him at Tony Stark’s feet to see if the eccentric billionaire superhero could fix him.

At first Tony refused to help; somehow in all of Nat’s SHIELD data leaks he’d dug up footage of the Winter Soldier taking out Howard and Maria Stark in December 1991 and wanted nothing to do with helping his parents’ killer. But Nat had found evidence from Soviet Hydra that a different assassin had been used to kill the Starks and that video had been spliced together to reinforce the legend of the Soldier.

Bucky smiles grimly when he thinks about why those Hydra bastards had had to use a different assassin for that job. He remembers now that in the weeks before the Starks were murdered, the Soldier had been sent on a mission to Vukovar to aid the Serbian paramilitaries against the Croats.

Instead of helping massacre Croatian prisoners of war, though, he’d gone on the run and made it as far as Vienna before being recaptured. He’d fought all the way back to Siberia and it had taken 10 men to force him back into cryo. His brow wrinkles as he recalls this, and he flexes his metal hand which is, thankfully, covered in a flesh-colored sleeve that Stark made for him to blend in more easily.

“You OK, Barnes?” Clint interrupts his reverie with a burp and a clap on the shoulder. The tray of crab puffs is empty. “I know this whole shebang is a drag, but at least the catering rocks.”

Bucky smiles again at his friend, this time more cheerfully. He definitely feels better with fancy food filling his gut, a little more fortified to deal with this party.

After seeing Nat’s evidence vindicating Bucky, Tony and Pepper have taken him on and agreed to let him live in the Tower with the other Avengers. In the months since, Stark has managed to more or less deprogram the Soldier and has fixed some glitches with his bionic arm.

Bucky is grateful for all this, even if the more he gets to know Tony, the more he thinks Iron Man is a fucking head case. But that’s largely Pepper’s problem. Bucky loves Pepper — and he owes her a lot — but he’s glad he’s not in her shoes.

It took a while for Bucky’s memory to return, even after Tony’s efforts to reverse Pierce putting his brain in the blender before the Triskelion. Even now there are bits of his life that he can’t remember...and parts of his life as the Soldier that he’d rather forget. But Bucky’s trying hard to start a new life, going to therapy, writing down his memories in an ever-increasing pile of notebooks, and attempting to reconnect with the human race.

All Bucky’s friends from the Howlies are dead — he just visited Gabe’s grave at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn back in October — but he’s making new friends at the Tower and regularly accompanies the Avengers on missions, especially those against remaining Hydra cells. He and Sam regularly give each other shit and argue over coffee whether Harlem or Red Hook is the best neighborhood in New York. Nat comes over several evenings a week with vodka to eat his blinis with smetana and salmon or caviar while they talk affectionate smack about their colleagues in Russian.

Clint is sympathetic to Bucky’s whole deal, having been brainwashed himself by Loki before the Battle of New York a few years back. He likes to come over and get high and watch 90s sitcoms, solemnly telling Bucky that he needs to catch up on all the important cultural milestones he’s missed by soaking up _Full House_ and _Fresh Prince_ and _Family Matters_. Bucky is happy to have him over, though he insists that Clint bring edibles instead of weed because the latter leaves a skunky smell all over his furniture. Bucky wrinkles his nose just thinking about it.

Two seconds later their alcove curtain is ruthlessly pulled aside and Natasha looms over them, looking beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

“OK, slackers,” she remarks in a normal voice that nonetheless has a threatening edge to it. “Time to stop stuffing your faces and start doing some socializing.”

“Aww, Nat, do we have to,” Clint whines. But at the same time, his eyes are twinkling and he reaches out to grab Nat’s hand and kiss it. She pulls her hand away immediately but quirks up the corner of her mouth in the ghost of a smile.

“Yes,” she says in a _this-discussion-is-over_ voice, and smooths down her dress.

“Can you believe this woman. So cruel,” Clint moans to Bucky.

“Yes,” answers Bucky with a straight face. “I trained her.”

Clint bursts out laughing and Nat’s ghost-smile gets a little bigger. “Alright,” Barton says, standing up and adjusting his hearing aids. “Ready to schmooze, Barnes?”

Bucky nods hesitantly and stands up. This is, as he’s already told himself numerous times tonight, not really his scene — although after 70 years of brainwashed assassining, he’s not really sure what exactly his scene is anymore — but he wants to help Tony and Pepper, show some gratitude for all they’ve done for him. He brushes some crumbs off his jacket, buttons it, and follows Nat back into the the throng to join Pepper and do his best to sweet talk the New York glitterati. It’ll be fine.

It is not fine. There is a lot of air kissing and a lot of faux-cheerful banter and a lot of making nice to the kind of old white men that Bucky used to be forced to obey...or forced to kill. But he manfully does his best to follow Pepper around the floor, fielding questions about his profession and his family and his background as vaguely as he can without outright lying. While a lot of info about came out in Nat’s data dump, the Winter Soldier — and, indeed, James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th — have been kept as secret as possible to mitigate Hydra risks.

After forty-five minutes of socializing, Bucky is secretly wondering whether some of the torture he’s undergone in his time is preferable to this nonsense. He sees Hawkeye edging off to his left and grabbing another tray of hors d’oeuvres and is about to follow him when...

“Steve, this is James Barnes,” Pepper says smoothly, and from behind her steps a slim, short guy with floppy blond hair and the face of a grumpy angel.

Unlike the rest of the stiffs in the ballroom, Steve is wearing a sheer black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tight black jeans, and a bemused smile. He’s got an intricate flower tattoo covering his left forearm, multiple piercings in his ears, and is that a pierced nipple just visible through the shirt? Bucky doesn’t like to stare. Steve looks like he’d be more at home right now at a club than in a ballroom full of stuffy rich people. Pepper goes on.

“James, this is Steve Rogers, an artist and a friend.”

Bucky sticks out his hand and obediently says, “Nice to meet you, Steve. It’s James, but you can call me Bucky.” He’s a little taken aback when Steve doesn’t take his hand right away, but instead looks Bucky up and down like he’s inspecting a particularly choice cut of meat. Then he clasps Bucky’s hand. Steve’s hand is warm, dry, and surprisingly strong.

For the second time in a minute, Bucky’s a little taken aback when Steve doesn’t let go of his hand after the requisite three seconds. He keeps it trapped in his surprisingly strong little paw and looks Bucky in the face, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, is this the brainwashed assassin?” Steve says, ostensibly to Pepper at his side but keeping his glance fixed on Bucky. He tilts his head and squints his eyes a bit. “Yeah, OK.

Then Steve smiles a crooked smile and Bucky feels a wave of heat pass through him from the soles of his feet to his scalp. He hasn’t experienced that sensation since he slept with that hot partisan after they’d blown up that Nazi weapons depot in 1943. Given the way Hydra’s messed with both his body and his mind over the decades, he didn’t think he’d ever have that feeling again.

_Interesting._

Although his body is going haywire, Bucky does think to wonder how Steve knows who he is, given that his true identity is only supposed to be known by a chosen few. But perhaps Steve has security clearance? But he’s an artist, not a superhero or in Pepper’s tiny inner circle?

_Hmm._

“You’ll see Steve more around the Tower over the next few months.” Pepper talks as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, so Bucky stops worrying about Steve’s security clearance. “The company’s given him a commission for paintings in all the conference rooms and Avengers apartment suites.”

Steve is still holding Bucky’s hand, still smirking, his eyes challenging. Bucky feels a tingling sensation in his gut, which he immediately tries to suppress. He’s careful not to swallow hard and he really hopes he’s not turning pink. And he resolutely refuses to look at Natasha, whom he can see out of the corner of his eye on Pepper’s left, eating up this interaction like it’s the most delicious meal in the world.

“...so you’ll have a few Steve Rogers originals in your apartment, Bucky, won’t that be nice?” Pepper continues to sound like she’s discussing the weather with a nice but casual acquaintance.

Steve’s eyebrows go up. _Won’t that be nice, Bucky?_ they say. Bucky decides that the only way out of this situation is through, and smiles back at Steve.

“That will be...very exciting,” Bucky says, keeping his tone mild but threading a hint of gravel through it. Steve’s eyes light up even further ( _BINGO_ ) and he lets go of Bucky’s hand.

“I’m glad you think so,” says Steve bluntly, once again looking Bucky up and down. Bucky purposely makes his mind go blank and starts saying the alphabet backward in his head, his time-honored way of keeping his dick in check since 1933. But even in the midst of his physical excitement, he notices a deep feeling of comfort, of rightness, in his gut.

_Safe_. Bucky’s only just met him, but he feels _safe_ with Steve.

“It’s a great honor, you know, having my masterpieces in your place,” Steve continues. Now his eyes are mocking as well as bright.

“Well, I know that _now_ ,” responds Bucky, a corner of his mouth turning upward ( _T-S-R-Q-P_ ). He, too, can dish out the shit when he has the opportunity. Steve’s eyes flash once and...

“Well, I gotta go,” Steve says abruptly. “Great art doesn’t make itself. Ladies...” he nods at Pepper and Nat. “Later, Bucky...” he winks at Bucky and smirks.

Steve darts quickly away and disappears into the crowd before Pepper can ply him with social niceties. Pepper turns to Bucky, palms turned up apologetically.

“Sorry about that, Bucky,” she says ruefully. “He’s a little...abrasive. But absolutely brilliant.”

Bucky shrugs. To be honest, he finds Steve’s aggression and bluntness refreshing after the bullshit he’s put up with for the last hour. “I didn’t mind,” he says.

“You certainly didn’t,” Nat pipes up. Bucky gives her the evil eye and is about to curse her out colorfully in Russian when he sees Barton gesturing to him across the room, holding what appears to be a full tray of fancy sushi.

“Pepper, Natashenka, if you’ll excuse me,” says Bucky as politely as he can right now, bowing to the two women without looking at them before making his getaway. He uses Nat’s diminutive as an attempt to put her in her place, stem her teasing, but it makes no difference. He tries and fails to avoid hearing them break into laughter as he hurries toward Clint.

*****

“My god, woman!” Sue exclaims, reaching out to touch Kate’s bicep. “You’ve got the face of a wood-elf and the body of Ryan Gosling, look at that!”

Bucky laughs a little under his breath. It’s a cold, wet morning in late April and he’s watching the show on his StarkPad while he’s in his kitchen baking lemon ginger scones. He’s watched this season of _Great British Bake-Off_ three times — OK, he’s watched every season of _Bake-Off_ three times — but he still appreciates Sue’s over-the-top flirting with all the contestants. Hell, if he were on that show he’d flirt with everyone too, they’re all amazing.

Even now, a year after the Triskelion, everything Bucky does is still fueled by the joy and wonder at engaging in regular human activities, like eating and baking and running through the park and hanging out with people watching TV, and by the satisfaction that Hydra no longer controls his mind and his body and his life. He carefully cuts the scones into circular shapes and puts them in the oven.

_Fuck you, Hydra._

Bucky takes the StarkPad over to the kitchen island and sits down on one of the stools to keep watching while he waits for the scones to bake. He thinks about flirting, and what it often leads to. It’s been almost 70 years since he’s been with anyone, but he remembers more and more about his pre-war days, and he knows he had game.

Lately he’s wondered about trying to find someone to date, but who wants a brainwashed ex-assassin with memory loss, trust issues, and a metal arm?

_Hmm._

An image of blond floppy hair and piercing blue eyes enters his mind unsolicited...

“They look...very inviting,” Mary Berry says, looking at Kate’s orange-cardamom rolls. “Yeah, they got a nice bake,” says Paul, as Mel stuffs a roll in her mouth. Bucky doesn’t blame her — they look fucking delicious.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis says from overhead. “Steve Rogers is here.”

Bucky starts as he hears the name of the person he was just starting to fantasize about. He’s seen Steve regularly over the past few months as the artist has supervised the installation of his work in various locations around the Tower. Every time they’ve interacted, Steve has been either mocking or abrasive, or both. He’s usually sarcastic and cutting when Bucky tries to act like a normal human being and engage him in conversation.

Which makes all the fluttering in Bucky’s stomach when he sees Steve kind of a mystery. You’d think that Steve’s anti-social behavior would put Bucky off, but no, it’s a relief to talk to someone who doesn’t tiptoe around Bucky like he’s either a walking time bomb or coddle him like he’s in need of special treatment. Steve was born to be a little shit and Bucky can’t get enough.

And, as he first suspected at the Christmas party, Bucky’s confirmed that while Steve can be a little shit, he’s also honest and trustworthy and brimful of integrity. Steve never lies, and when he says he’s going to do something, you can rely on him to do it.

_Safe_. Bucky feels _safe_ with Steve.

Right now Steve is here to do some house painting. He doesn’t do this at all anymore, he’s told Bucky, he put in his time applying rollers to walls when he was a starving art student in college. This is a favor to Pepper since she’s been so (literally) supportive of Steve’s career.

“Let him in, Jarvis,” says Bucky in even tones toward the ceiling. “Thanks.” He knows he doesn’t need to use niceties with an AI, but his ma raised him to be polite.

Why is Steve doing Bucky’s house painting if he doesn’t have to? The truth is that Bucky’s previous house painter was a Hydra operative who’d managed last month to take the place of the actual contractor to gain access to the Tower. He’d acted all squirrelly as he was painting, and Bucky had instinctively known there was something wrong with the guy as he’d sat on his couch reading a book. Suddenly the man had put his roller down and turned to face Bucky, a sheen of sweat visible on his face that had nothing to do with the amount of effort he was putting into painting the wall.

“What’s the matter,” Bucky had said sarcastically in Russian. “Tired of painting already?”

The “house painter” had gasped a little, but had manned up and started reciting “ _Longing...rusted...seventeen..._ ” in Russian. Bucky had smiled an evil smile, stood up from the couch in one lithe movement, and murder walked toward the man, who’d turned whiter than the trim but had kept blathering trigger words like they were talismans that could save him.

“Those are out of date, _comrade_ ,” Bucky had said softly, neatly preventing the man from reaching for the knife in his pocket with his flesh arm, twisting the man’s arm back, and putting him out cold with one bionic punch to the face. Bucky had then been tempted to throw him off the balcony, but current Avengers operating procedure is to capture Hydra agents alive, so he’d turned over the unfortunate weasel to Natasha and Clint for some quiet discussions.

The result of those “discussions” had been the location and destruction of six Hydra bases in North and Central America, so Bucky was ultimately glad he’d held back on the defenestration. Two days later, Steve had showed up, saying he’d finish the painting job. He’d taken one look at the half-painted wall and sarcastically said that Hydra could’ve at least sent someone competent.

So Steve must have some kind of clearance, Bucky reckons. He knows about Hydra, and he knows about the Winter Soldier. What else does he know about?

_Hmm_.

All of this flies through Bucky’s mind as he hears Steve’s heavy tread in his hallway. Bucky turns off _Bake-Off_ for now and swivels on his stool to meet Steve as he comes in.

Steve drops his jacket and bag on the floor near the entryway and saunters into Bucky’s living room. He’s wearing an old, tight short-sleeve t-shirt for painting and Bucky tries not to stare at his arm tattoo and the whipcord biceps sticking out of those sleeves. Steve may be short and slim but he’s surprisingly muscular.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says carelessly, nodding his head sharply. He approaches and looks Bucky up and down rudely but almost possessively. Bucky swallows hard at both the nickname — which is unique to Steve — and the appraising glance.

“Hey, Steve,” replies Bucky, keeping his tone casual. He hopes he’s not blushing. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

“Thought I’d finish the foyer and the hallway to your guest bedrooms today.” Steve chuckles, running a hand through his floppy blond bangs. “I can’t stick around later today, but can you sit for me for an hour or two tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure,” says Bucky. Steve is making sketches for a painting he wants to do that involves a male figure and he’s asked Bucky if he’ll pose for him. Bucky has said yes, surprising himself as he’s not generally one to remain comfortable under prolonged scrutiny these days.

But again, he feels... _safe_...with Steve, even if Steve makes his stomach clench and his chest and... _other areas_...warm. At least the posing is with Bucky’s back to Steve. And clothed. Bucky will not think about posing naked for Steve, he _will not_ , but the heat starts rising from his pelvis anyway and...

_DING_.

_Saved by the bell._ Bucky takes a deep breath and goes over to the range, turns off the timer, and pulls the scones out of the oven. He senses Steve coming up behind him.

“Those smell amazing, Buck, can I...?” Steve indicates his head toward the tray and Bucky nods. He’s about to tell Steve to wait til they’ve cooled a little when Steve grabs one and shoves a huge bite into his mouth.

“Oh god, Buck, these are amazing,” moans Steve, his mouth full. He eats the entire scone in three more bites and makes not one complaint about how hot it is. Bucky’s eyebrows raise. Steve’s palate must be made of asbestos.

“What’s for lunch?” Steve goes on, wiping his mouth, his eyes dancing. Often Bucky makes lunch for the two of them in his apartment when Steve is here, but sometimes they’ll join the other Avengers on the common floor, especially if it’s taco day.

“Baked ziti,” says Bucky, going to the fridge and pulling out the dish. “Put it together last night. Thought it’d be nice to have something hot on a cold, wet day. I’ll throw it in the oven in a bit.”

“Oh fuck, that looks delicious,” Steve says, eyeing the casserole appreciatively. “Can’t wait to eat it with you.” He elbows Bucky in the ribs. “Alright, I’m gonna get to work, smell ya later.” He grabs another scone and shoves it in his mouth, eyes bright, before heading off to the hallway closet where he’s currently storing his painting supplies.

Bucky waits a few minutes and listens to Steve’s clomping footsteps and clatter in the front hallway as Steve gets out his stuff. Steve is always fairly loud, and sometimes he puts in his AirPods and sings whatBucky now knows as late 90s boy band tunes in a nasally off-key voice, but this doesn’t bother Bucky at all. In fact, it’s comforting to have someone else around. OK, it’s comforting to have _Steve_ around.

As the scones cool off, Bucky takes a few, slathers them in butter, and sits back down to finish his GBBO episode. He’s got a big training session this afternoon with the rest of the Avengers, so he’s taking advantage of a quiet morning to relax and carbo load. In the background he can hear a roller against the wall and Steve mangling the tune of _Larger Than Life_ as he works.

After a bit Bucky pauses Netflix before the next episode can start and gets up to pop the baked ziti into the oven. Soon the entire apartment is filled with delicious aromas. On a whim Bucky decides to add some garlic bread to the menu and deftly cuts up a loaf of Italian bread, adds garlic and butter, and wraps it up to throw into the oven next to the casserole.

“Shit, Buck, that smells delicious!” Steve yells from the other room. The rolling stops and Bucky can hear the water running in the spare bathroom. After a minute or two Steve appears in the kitchen sans earbuds as Bucky is checking on the ziti. Another ten minutes.

“Damn, Barnes, are you sure you didn’t order this from Monte’s?” says Steve as he barrels into the space. “It smells way too good for some idiot superhero to make.”

“I went to Monte’s once, in 1939,” Bucky says drily, closing the oven door and turning to face his house painter. “It was pretty good, but not that great.”

“Pretty good??” Now Steve is getting faux-outraged. “Monte’s is the best! You can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“That’s what I told your mother last night,” says Bucky cheekily, trying to keep the corner of his lip from curling up. He used to be an expert at dishing out shit to the Howlies during the war, and now he’s trying to get back into the groove.

Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s halfway between a snort and a scream and launches himself at Bucky. He’s a good four inches shorter and 60 or 70 pounds lighter than Bucky, but the latter has learned that Steve is pugnacious and fearless and never shies away from a fight, especially when he thinks he sees an injustice. He once told Bucky that he got his nose broken in tenth grade fighting a senior linebacker on his school football team who was bullying a classmate for wearing a hijab.

Bucky was impressed. He also likes Steve’s slightly crooked nose, thinks it makes him look even cuter, though maybe slightly less pretty.

They wrestle hard for several minutes, Bucky taking care to move their horseplay out of the kitchen and away from the hot stove. Steve is getting in some pretty sweet moves, it’s obvious he’s had training of some sort, but he’s no match for the Winter Soldier, either in size or in hand-to-hand combat.

Finally Steve ends up throwing his arms around Bucky’s chest and trying to push him to the ground, but Bucky stands fast and won’t let Steve topple him. After a minute or two, Bucky loops his huge arms around Steve’s thin shoulders to pull him off the ground. And then...

...Steve lifts his head off Bucky’s chest and looks up at his face. His hair is mussed and his skin is flushed and his deep blue eyes, the color of the Mediterranean, are bright with emotion. Bucky stops lifting and stares back. Something like an electric shock passes through him and he would swear on his mother’s grave that the same thing is happening to Steve.

They look at each other for a long moment, chests heaving, hearts in their throats. Almost involuntarily Bucky starts leaning toward Steve’s upturned face, drawn toward those beautiful full red lips that are slightly parted as if in welcome...

...and then Steve pushes back against Bucky and hastily pulls away as the latter lets him go.

“Well, that’s enough of that bullshit,” says Steve gruffly, still breathing hard, his eyes dark. “Is it time to eat yet?”

Bucky takes a deep, silent breath and wills his body to calm down. He runs his fingers through his hair and ambles over to the kitchen, heart still pounding. Steve remains where he is in the living room, turning his back to Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers in a quiet voice. He pulls the casserole dish and the garlic bread out of the oven and puts them on trivets on the kitchen island. By the time he’s pulled out plates and utensils, Steve is sitting on one of the stools, his face petulant, eyes stormy and stubborn.

They don’t talk at all during lunch. Steve wolfs down his food with his usual atrocious table manners and finishes in record time. He stands up, says, “Thanks for lunch, Buck” without looking at Bucky and goes back to painting.

Bucky lingers over his food a little longer, thoughtful. Much of his memory has come back and he’s reflecting on his pre-war social life, in which he went out a lot and made time with so many people, both men and women, in the back alleys behind bars. Even brought a few of ‘em home, although it was tough to do that and not wake up his roommates. He had a good connection with several...Dottie Castellano and her auburn hair and her varsity ass...Johnnie McClure and his big brown eyes and his thick, rock-hard...biceps.

But Bucky doesn’t remember ever feeling a spark like this one. It hit him hard from the top of his head to his toes and it was...more than just horsing around, more than just flirting. He gets up and cleans up the kitchen after he’s done eating and slowly puts on his tac gear for this afternoon’s training session. He’s fairly sure that Steve felt it too, but now from the way that Steve is ostentatiously ignoring him while he paints, he’s started to doubt his instincts.

Bucky has to pass Steve in the foyer to leave his apartment, so he tries to play it cool as he walks by.

“Gotta go to training downstairs,” Bucky says in as neutral a voice as he can muster. “See ya later, Steve.” Steve is back to wearing his AirPods and for an instant Bucky thinks Steve didn’t hear him, but a couple seconds later Steve grunts in Bucky’s general direction. He does not stop painting.

Bucky heads down to the Avengers training session. He’s carrying a lot of pent-up energy, both from the ziti and from all the emotional shenanigans with Steve, so it’s not surprising that he kicks everyone’s ass in combat simulation.

Clint is the first to go out, taking one of his own Nerf arrows in the neck after Bucky pulls it out of the air. Sam is next, with three “hits” to his wings that render him flightless. Tony tries to temporarily disable Bucky with a magnetic pulse from one of his gauntlets and Bucky deflects it back at his helmet. “Nice work, Robocop,” Tony says as he shakes his head trying to dispel the dizziness.

Even Natasha can’t best him today. She sends everything she’s got after him, blanks, widow bites, even that goddamn wire, but Bucky anticipates everything and after fifteen minutes he’s got her pinned on the mat.

“Holy shit, Barnes,” Clint says when the session debrief is over and they’re all headed to the showers or back to their own apartments. “What the fuck’s gotten into you today?” Clint smiles before adding, “Not that I’m complaining, I fuckin’ love it.”

Bucky’s about to say something pedestrian when Natasha interrupts. Despite two hours of intense training, she’s not sweating at all, her makeup and coiffure intact, the only imperfections the fading marks of Bucky’s brief chokehold on her neck.

“I think James has some... _issues_...he’s working through right now,” Nat purrs, shaking out her flaming red hair, her mouth twitched up on one side. “Gotta get the excess energy out somehow.”

Bucky is careful to keep his expression impassive in the face of this onslaught from the Widow, although it’s nothing he wouldn’t expect from her. He finds himself extra thankful that Tony and Sam have already left and can’t add their teasing to Nat’s. He shrugs.

“Just in the flow today,” Bucky says, smiling blandly at Clint one second and turning the evil eye on Nat the next as if daring her to say anything more. She keeps her mouth shut but that crooked smile gets a fraction more crooked.

“Awesome job, dude,” says Clint, clapping him on the back and at least pretending to ignore all the unspoken Russian assassin innuendo in the room. “See you later in the common room? Sushi and ramen tonight.” Bucky nods and walks away, intensely aware that Nat is staring holes into his back and grinning.

Over the next week or so, though, Bucky begins to wonder if he just hallucinated those “issues.” The day after the wrestling match, Steve comes into Bucky’s apartment cool and brusque, staying away from Bucky in the morning and saying he has an “errand” to run at lunch.

Even their modeling session is remote and professional, Steve eyeing his model with reserve and offering no commentary except, “Your head more to the left. Please.” The “please” being spat out with a grudging nod to common politeness.

Bucky stays impassive through the week of Cold Steve but inside he’s taken aback and he starts to doubt himself. He thinks that he must have been imagining the heat between him and Steve at the Christmas party, on the day of the scones and baked ziti. Steve was probably just messing with him, to see if he could fluster the Winter Soldier.

Except at the end of that week, Bucky’s posing for Steve again in his apartment and he turns around suddenly to see Steve no longer sketching, staring at Bucky with dark and hungry eyes, his mouth slightly open. When he sees Bucky looking, he purses his lips and his expression immediately shifts back to coldly appraising.

“Hold the pose. Please,” Steve says. And Bucky complies, his heart sinking a little.

The next day the Avengers meet for another training session and Bucky is completely off his game. In one exercise he’s tagged within minutes by Clint — Clint! — and has to run around the gym twenty times. In the next, Natasha gets him with a widow’s bite using a combat move she learned from him back in 19 fucking-99, for fuck’s sake.

“What the hell, Buckaroo,” calls Tony from inside the suit at the end of the session, but Bucky’s already stomping out of the gym. He skips the post-session debrief and stomps down to the firing range in the basement, where he misses two shots — two! — out of the hundred and seven he takes. His marksmanship hasn’t been this bad since he started sniper training after Basic in 1943. He tosses the pistols to the range manager with a curt “Thanks” and stomps back upstairs to his apartment to take a shower.

Natasha is there in his foyer when he gets off the elevator.

“Not now, Natalia,” Bucky growls, and tries to stalk past her. He only calls her by her formal name when he’s well and truly pissed.

Nat moves sideways and blocks his escape.

“What’s with you,” she says softly in Russian.

“Nothing.” Bucky answers back in Russian. “It’s not important,” he adds after a brief pause.

Nat thinks for a minute, then says carefully, “That’s just how he is. He does like you, you know.”

Bucky shakes his head impatiently, partly because he thinks she’s wrong, and partly because he’s annoyed that she is such a busybody and knows everything about everyone in the Tower.

“I don’t think so,” he says shortly. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“The first time I met him, he just looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. He snorted out loud when he saw Clint,” she says.

Bucky grunts, considering. This is new information.

“Look, he comes to your place, right? He’s putting you in a painting, right? He eats your food, yes?” Nat is starting to sound sincere; she must really be worried about Bucky. Bucky nods in response to each question.

“So he likes you,” Nat says decisively, as if that solves everything.

“But...” the word is almost forced out of Bucky and as soon as he says it, he stops and wishes he could take it back. _But he doesn’t LIKE like me_ , he was going to say.

Nat smiles like she knows what he was going to say — and she probably does — and says, “Patience, James, patience.” She sounds so much like a babushka trying to comfort a small child when she says this that Bucky rolls his eyes.

“OK, Grandma Nat,” he replies. “I’ll be patient. But let me go wash up now so I don’t stink up the dinner table.”

“Согласенa,” Nat says cheekily back. “You smell terrible.” Bucky rolls his eyes again and she cackles and jumps on the elevator.

As Bucky stands under the hot shower, he can feel his anxiety draining away with the water. Nat’s right. He just has to be patient. He still feels safe with Steve, still feels more secure and comfortable around him than with anyone else. Even Nat.

And if Steve Rogers just wants to be friends, that’ll be fine. Just fine. _So_ fine.

At least, that’s what Bucky tells himself.

*****

_I've tried to hide it so that no one knows_

_But I guess it shows_

_When you look into my eyes_

_What you did and where you're comin' from_

_I don't care, as long as you love me, baby_

Steve’s voice, as always singing 90s boy bands and as always slightly off-key, floats across the room. He’s wearing his AirPods and painting some trim near the floor not far from the slider to Bucky’s balcony. It’s a warm, sunny day in late May and the sliding door and most of the windows in the apartment are open to take advantage of the beautiful weather.

Bucky’s sitting on his living room couch and enjoying the serenade. He finished his latest rewatch of the Luis/Martha/Nancy season of _Bake-Off_ earlier this morning and now he’s looking up some recipes for tarte au citron because those looked fucking delicious in the final. Maybe he can make a big one for team dinner tomorrow night...or make individual tarts for everyone, with their names piped on them in chocolate?

But let’s face it, Bucky’s also covertly watching Steve, who’s wearing only ripped jeans and an old white tank top while he’s painting. He’s admiring the way Steve’s back muscles ripple as he carefully spreads Farrow & Ball Wimbourne White over the baseboards, and idly wondering whether the closely shaved undercut at the back of Steve’s head feels as soft as it looks.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Bucky’s conversation with Nat about Steve, and he’s really tried to take her advice to heart and be patient. And while Steve is still prickly and curt, Nat is right — he’s still coming to Bucky’s apartment every day, still eating lunch with him, still sketching him for his painting.

And Bucky has caught Steve staring at him with that dark, hungry expression a few times, so maybe — just maybe — Steve LIKE likes him? But Bucky doesn’t want to test this theory, lest it upset their routine or, horror of horrors, drive Steve away. Bucky tries to deny it, but he has to admit that he loves having Steve in his place and misses him when he’s not there.

_I don’t care who you are_

_Where you’re from_

_What you did_

_As long as you love me_

Bucky grins as Steve’s voice, never reliable at the best of times, cracks altogether on the word “love” in the last line. God, Steve is such a ding dong. A beautiful, talented, completely maddening ding dong who is also rude as shit and hot as hell.

But suddenly the grin is erased off Bucky’s face as his Soldier-era danger-sensing instincts kick in. He realizes something bad is happening a split second before Jarvis calmly announces “Level One attack, Sergeant Barnes” from the ceiling.

“Steve, look out,” Bucky says sharply, as a flying Hydra operative lands on his balcony, folds his wings, and runs toward the open slider, followed immediately by another flying rat-faced fucker, with a third maybe five seconds behind them.

“Jarvis, initiate security protocols,” yell Steve and Bucky at the same time, and Bucky doesn’t even have time to be surprised at this because then everything happens at once.

At the dual command, Jarvis immediately shuts all windows and rams the sliding door shut. The third Hydra operative, unable to stop himself in time, runs straight into the reinforced glass door and knocks himself out. He slumps to the floor of the balcony.

However, the other two Hydra operatives have managed to breach the apartment. Steve is closer to both of them, but the first one turns to him while the second starts toward Bucky, who’s already running across the room and pulling his favorite knife out of the holster over his tac pants, a grim expression on his face.

Steve has come to standing and ripped the earphones out of his ears, and is approaching the first Hydra goon in attack stance with his paintbrush clutched in his hand. The Hydra guy sneers, thinking Steve is an easy fight, and swings a lazy punch at Steve’s head.

Steve easily ducks his punch and sticks the paintbrush in the guy’s left eye, followed by a vicious right hook to the jaw. This is enough to bring the operative to his knees and Steve prepares to finish him off. However, the second traitorous slimeball turns from his trajectory toward Bucky to help his colleague.

Steve drops his paintbrush and seems more than ready to take on both the Hydra goons by himself, despite the fact that they’re both much bigger than he is and that there are two of them. He goes for the second operative and manages to land a decent punch to the guy’s eye, but the first guy, still on his knees, leans forward to grab Steve’s leg and pull him off balance. This gives the second guy the opportunity to hit Steve in the face. Steve reels backward, blood gushing from his nose, and he lands on his ass on the floor a few feet away.

By this time Bucky has reached the fight and as he sees Steve go down with a bleeding face, Bucky’s expression hardens even further and he locks into full _SOLDAT_ mode. He rushes both Hydra agents, eyes blazing, and engages in brief but effective hand-to-hand combat, yelling one word for every move he makes.

“DON’T...” Bucky pushes the kneeling agent hard in the middle of the wings on his back, sending him crashing into the floor.

“TOUCH...” he pivots and slashes the second operative’s bicep with his favorite knife.

“MY...” as the second guy grabs his arm in pain, Bucky elbows him in the face and he drops to the ground unconscious.

“BOYFRIEND!” Bucky turns back to the first guy, who is just pushing up from the ground, and kicks him under the chin. The guy reels across the floor, knocked out, and lands at Steve’s feet.

Bucky, still murderous with focused rage over Steve’s injury, quickly kneels next to the agent nearest him and twirls his knife in his hand, obviously intending to slit the operative’s throat.

“Bucky, no!” yells Steve from a few feet away. Bucky glances up at him. Steve’s nose is still dripping blood and the front of his tank top basically looks like the prom scene from _Carrie_ , but otherwise he looks OK. Steve’s eyes are pleading as he goes on.

“Current protocol, Buck,” Steve says. “Remember?”

Bucky nods. Now he knows Steve has clearance because only a few people beyond the Avengers themselves know about the agreed-upon procedure for dealing with Hydra agents.

Bucky sheaths his knife and darts into his special equipment closet to grab some Stark-issue tungsten handcuffs for the unconscious invaders— including the unlucky bastard still out cold on the balcony — and is just coming out when a couple more Avengers come storming into the apartment, weapons drawn, in response to Jarvis’ alarm.

Natasha runs into the living room, pistols in both hands, with Clint on her six to provide backup protection. Both are wearing lounge clothes. Both stop when they catch sight of the tableau.

“Fuckin’ a, dudes,” Clint says appreciatively as he lowers his bow. He scratches his belly where his faded Metallica t-shirt is riding up over his ancient sweatpants. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control here. Any more of these assholes in the vicinity?” He peers out the big plate glass window, clearly envisioning a potential army of flying Hydra agents attacking the Tower.

Bucky shakes his head. “None so far,” he says, keeping an eye on the unconscious men but also sliding his eyes to Steve, whose nose is still bleeding. “Jarvis?”

“No other hostiles detected in the area,” Jarvis answers immediately. “However, my detailed outside surveillance capability only extends to ten miles around the Tower in all directions.”

“Keep up the constant surveillance, Jarvis,” says Nat sharply. “Maintain monitoring at Threat Level One.” She puts her pistols into the holsters that were obviously hastily strapped over her yoga pants and looks at Steve and Bucky.

“Well, nice job, guys,” Nat says with only the slightest bit of sarcasm tinging her voice. “I’m a little bummed you didn’t leave any fun for us, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Steve mischievously. He jerks his head sideways toward the balcony, where the third Hydra guy is stirring and lifting his head. “You might have a little fun with that.” Steve rubs his bleeding nose on his arm and the effect is well and truly macabre.

Nat’s mouth crooks up on one side when she looks out the window.

“Absolutely,” she says. She looks at Bucky.

“James, why don’t you take Steve into the bathroom and help him clean up,” Nat says. She reaches for the handcuffs, which Bucky hands over. “Barton and I will clean up out here, won’t we, Clint.” Clint grins and nods. “Besides, Maria and her team are on their way and we’ll all get these shitheads out of your apartment as soon as possible. I’m looking forward to my... discussions...with all of them.”

The Hydra agent closest to her groans and she steps on his neck. “Barton, get over here and hold this guy down while I deal with the мудак on the balcony.”

Bucky smiles at her and turns to Steve, who is still sitting on the floor where he fell. Bucky’s adrenaline spike from the fight has lowered his inhibitions and given him a little courage to face his crush. _Better than booze_ , he thinks.

“C’mon, Rogers, let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky says in his most commanding Winter Soldier voice. Steve gets that stubborn look in his eyes, and it looks for a minute like he’s going to protest, but then he hesitates and shrugs and says, “OK.”

Bucky reaches a hand down and helps Steve up. As they walk down the hall to the bathroom, Bucky can hear Clint clomp his old sneaker on the back of the Hydra agent and say, “Holy shit, these wings are a fucking travesty. Nothing like Sam’s.” He can also hear Maria and her security team trooping into the apartment and the sound of Nat’s voice lovingly cursing out the Hydra agent on the balcony in Russian as she applies a widow’s bite. So that’s all settled.

Alone with Steve in the bathroom, Bucky is ten times more anxious than he was fighting two huge Hydra goons. The courage he mustered up a couple of minutes ago is quickly draining away. He covers up his nerves by being as detachedly aggressive as possible, manhandling Steve into the room and lifting him onto the counter next to the sink so he can take a look at Steve’s nose. He will not think about being six inches from Steve’s mouth, he _will not...._

“It’s stopped bleeding and it’s not broken,” Bucky announces, straightening up again before his dick gets any ideas.

“I realized that, thanks, Doc,” says Steve sarcastically. But he doesn’t protest when Bucky grabs a washcloth, runs it under warm water, and starts carefully wiping the blood away from Steve’s face.

Again Bucky has to get close to Steve to clean him up, and again he starts thinking about Steve’s mouth, which is so close...and now that it’s free of blood, his slightly parted lips look so shiny and pink and full and inviting...oh shit...time for backwards alphabet to calm the tingling in his pants. 

_Z-Y-X-W-V..._

Bucky clears his throat quietly and leans over to wipe the blood off Steve’s arm. The corner of those full, inviting lips quirks up just a bit. Bucky stands up straight to look at his handiwork. Steve’s face looks clean, but...Bucky looks at Steve’s tank top, grunts, and shakes his head.

“I don’t think your shirt is gonna make it, Steve,” he says ruefully. Steve looks down at his ruined shirt and back up at Bucky. He shrugs and, eyes sparkling, quickly strips it off and throws it on the floor.

Steve’s chest and arms are slim but corded with muscle. In addition to the flower tattoo on his left forearm, he’s got an eagle on his right side, a rose next to his bellybutton, and a sizeable red star above his left nipple, which, as Bucky suspected at the Christmas party, is pierced with a gold barbell...wait.

A red star? Over his heart?

_Hmm._

A wave of heat washes through Bucky’s body and he swallows hard.

“Well, ah, I can get you a fresh t-shirt,” Bucky mutters, and he’s about to turn away to make his escape from the bathroom when Steve grabs his arm.

“You told those Hydra assholes I was your boyfriend,” Steve says accusingly. His eyes are no longer sparkling, but dark with some strong emotion.

Bucky can feel his face going red. He looks at the floor.

“Uh...yeah,” he mumbles. “Guess I got a little carried away, sorr—...”

Bucky is cut off as Steve leans forward and seals his lips onto Bucky’s with a fierce kiss. Bucky’s eyes open wide with surprise for a few seconds as he feels Steve’s soft mouth fasten onto his, and then flutter shut as Steve deepens the kiss and slides his other hand behind Bucky’s neck so he can keep him where he wants him.

After a few minutes, Steve demands that Bucky open up for him and Bucky immediately complies with a soft moan. His body is experiencing all kinds of delicious sensations and his skin is tingling all over. He had no idea that Steve felt this way about him...or, to be honest, he’d wondered briefly on that rainy day in April a few weeks ago, but dismissed it as his imagination when Steve was so brusque afterward.

Bucky moans again involuntarily and Steve smiles against his mouth. The hand holding Bucky’s neck slides gently up to grab a fistful of hair and pull. The sensation jolts Bucky and goes straight to his dick. Ever since he was rescued from Hydra he’s resisted letting anyone have any kind of control over him, and Tony and Pepper and the Avengers have made an extra effort to give him complete free will in his life outside of missions, which he’s appreciated.

But now...the idea of this petite, beautiful man, this man that Bucky could easily pick up and throw across the room, dominating him and telling him what to do, makes his entire being light up. He realizes with a flash that he trusts Steve implicitly, that Steve will always take care of him, that Steve has somehow...already been taking care of him for months?

Bucky’s heart warms and feels like it’s doubled in size within his chest. Steve seems to sense this, because he breaks their kiss and stares intensely at Bucky, moving his hand from Bucky’s bicep to his left pec.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Months,” Steve hisses, pressing his hand against Bucky’s chest. Bucky leans into his touch.

“I wanted you when we met at the Christmas party,” Steve goes on, the fingers on his other hand threading through Bucky’s hair, rubbing against his scalp. “I wanted to drag you off to a coat closet and suck you off right there. When we were wrestling a few weeks ago, I was so tempted to strip you down and fuck you hard on your living room rug.”

Bucky’s breath catches at this and he feels dizzy.

“Why didn’t you,” he murmurs. Steve’s grip tightens on his hair again.

“Because Pepper asked me to keep an eye on you, especially after that Hydra housepainter infiltrated, and I felt like it made things too complicated,” Steve says, grimacing.

“Keep an eye on me?” Bucky responds incredulously, though that hair pulling is really making his cock fill up. “You know I’m the deadliest assassin in the world, right? Except for maybe Natasha,” he adds in a burst of magnamity.

“I know,” says Steve ruefully. “And I know you can take care of yourself. But Tony and Pepper wanted backup to protect you. Someone who was resourceful and reliable, but who wasn’t officially an Avenger.” He sighs and rubs Bucky’s chest forcefully.

“Tony and Pepper and I were once...very...close,” Steve says hesitantly. Bucky’s eyebrows raise in a silent question, and Steve smiles. “Yes, _that_ close,” he chuckles. “But that ended and we stayed the best of friends. They knew that I could be trusted with anything. Gave me top clearance with both SI and the Avengers. When they asked me to look after you, I immediately agreed. But I wasn’t sure about getting involved with you, even though I wanted to. _So_ much.”

“What changed?” Bucky asks bluntly. He’s all in on this venture, but I wants to make sure that Steve is, too. He hears the last of Maria’s team leave the premises and knows that they are well and truly alone in his apartment. 

“Today, when those Hydra shitheads barged in, and I was sprawled out on the floor bleeding and watching you attack them, it hit me how strongly I felt about you,” answers Steve frankly. “And I didn’t want to wait to tell you ‘til it was too late...and then you called me your ‘boyfriend’ as you were laying them out.” 

“And _are_ you?” says Bucky. His breath has gotten short again in anticipation. Steve’s eyes darken again.

“Goddamn straight I am,” he growls, and fists Bucky’s t-shirt to pull him close. This time Steve licks across Bucky’s lips right away and forces his mouth open so he can thrust his tongue against Bucky’s tongue and upper teeth. Neither breaking the kiss nor relinquishing his hold on either Bucky’s shirt or hair, Steve hops nimbly off the counter and pulls Bucky down to him.

Bucky gladly complies and moves to circle his arms around Steve, his bionic arm resting at the small of his back and his flesh arm caressing the undercut at the back of his neck, which is just as soft as Bucky suspected it was.

They kiss for a few more minutes until Steve pulls back again and moves both hands to the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s head is spinning but he tries to maintain his equilibrium.

“So now that I’m your boyfriend, I was going to ask you to take me out on a date,” Steve murmurs, staring straight into Bucky’s face and snuggling back into his arms. “But now that we’re here...I think I’d rather take you into your bedroom and order you around.”

At these words Bucky’s dick goes fully erect and a small sob escapes his throat.

“Please,” he says.

Steve grinds his own hard cock against Bucky’s erection and raises his eyebrows.

“Please what?” says Steve, a smirk crossing his face. “Words, Buck.”

“Please tell me what to do,” Bucky manages to choke out. He can barely breathe and he’s so hard he thinks he might burst. “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you want, Stevie.”

“Oh, I know you will,” says Steve in a voice barely above a whisper that yet carries the unmistakable ring of authority. He leans up and lays the gentlest of kisses on Bucky’s lips. “I’m going to take you apart and put you back together again. I’m gonna take such good care of you, Buck.”

Bucky can’t find it in himself to be able to speak just then, so he just nods dumbly and hopes Steve understands.

Suddenly Steve looks concerned. “Hey, Buck, you know you can always say no, right?” he says in a different kind of whisper. “You’re in control here, I won’t do anything you don’t want to do, and we can stop anytime if you’re uncomfortable, OK?”

Bucky nods again, more forcefully.

“Yes,” he croaks. He’s _so_ ready to jump off this cliff with Steve.

_Safe_. He feels so _safe_ right now.

Steve smiles and kisses Bucky again, licking against his top lip. “Good boy,” he mutters. He slides his hands down Bucky’s shoulders, grabs his flesh hand, and pulls him out of the bathroom.

As they walk down the hall toward the bedroom, Bucky regains his voice. He clears his throat.

“Jarvis,” he says.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jarvis replies evenly.

“Set Do Not Disturb protocol for this floor until further notice,” Bucky orders firmly. “Please,” he adds a second later.

“So polite, even with the AI,” remarks Steve. His voice sounds outwardly casual but has an edge to it underneath. They reach the door to Bucky’s bedroom and Steve stands aside to let Bucky enter first. As Bucky moves into the room, Steve gives him a stinging slap on the ass. Bucky swallows hard and a gasping sob escapes his throat.

“Clothes off now, please, Sergeant Barnes,” says Steve, his voice still commanding but now also gravelly. Steve’s sounds calm and authoritative, but Bucky doesn’t fail to notice that his boyfriend’s nipples are hard and there’s a pleasingly large bulge in his ripped jeans.

Bucky hurries to obey, tearing off his t-shirt, tac pants, and boxer briefs and returning upright to stand at attention...and oh yes, _everything_ is standing at attention. He used to be compelled to follow other people’s orders, but all that changed last year. And now he’s choosing to be under the command of someone he likes, admires — loves, maybe? — and desires beyond all reason, someone he feels secure with, someone who respects him and cares about him.

Someone who is about to make him feel _so_ good.

He can’t fucking wait.

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a lot of trouble with this story and rewrote parts of it more than once, added the Christmas party scene later, and have edited it numerous times in a (hopefully not vain) effort to make sure it hangs together. Somehow, though, even with all the frustrations I’ve had with it, I still love this dang Frankenfic. 
> 
> Bing Crosby never performed in Italy during WWII, but he did a big USO tour in England, France, and Germany during 1944-45. Now I’m imagining young Bucky in khaki as part of the audience in that opening scene in _White Christmas_...
> 
> The _GBBO_ season mentioned in the second section actually first aired in the US in early 2015, which is when this fic takes place (a year after the Triskelion). It would probably be hard for Bucky to have watched it three times already, but not impossible given he’s got a decent amount of extra time on his hands. 
> 
> I love that particular _GBBO_ scene and season so much, Sue is the best. Also RIP Luis from that season, he just seemed like a wonderful person. 😢
> 
> Согласенa means “agreed” in Russian. 
> 
> Mудак means “asshole” in Russian.


End file.
